This is a Love Story by Jessica Thompson Page B

arguments, which is no bad thing,’ I finished, smoothing my French Connection skirt down with my hands. I still felt like a scumbag for lying.
    ‘Sounds interesting,’ he said, gesturing to the waiter for two more drinks. Unfortunately the gesture was a little too energetic and mainly involved his right hand, which was clutching a pair of chopsticks and half a California roll. Said roll became separated from the sticks and flew through the air and into a woman’s handbag in the process. We watched with our mouths open as it sailed across the way and dropped into the silky lining of what looked like a brand-new Mulberry bag.
    He looked at me. I looked at him. We decided not to tell her. He was shockingly clumsy, and it was great entertainment.
    The rest of the night was a happy blur. I hadn’t laughed like that in a long time, and it seemed possible he hadn’t either. My face hurt. I felt free for the first time in ages, like anything was possible.
    We spent the evening charging round a strip of bars, throwing back brightly coloured shots and slamming them back down onto marble surfaces. It was a blur of bright lights, giggling and the scent of his aftershave, which made me hungry for him.
    He was silly. Funny. Hilarious, in fact. It all got more amusing the more we drank. I dared him to eat the large slice of lemon bobbing in his drink. He did it, in one, including the peel. He dared me to wear his shoes to the toilet and keep a straight face. I did.
    Because I was tired after a long day, he gave me a piggyback down a long, straight avenue lined with expensive-looking planters brimming with luscious flowers. Neither of us knew what the time was. It didn’t matter. It felt like the moon was looking down on us and smiling.
    I tried to return the favour but he was heavier than I expected and my legs buckled under his weight and my laughter. After thirty seconds and a metre of staggering, the two of us landed on the pavement in a heap of hysteria and scraped knees. One of his legs was caught in a planter. I couldn’t breathe as I lay on the cool stone, giggling loudly.
    It dawned on me that a real friendship was developing. I had never had such a connection with a man before. Whilst I was deeply attracted to him, this was something altogether different, a one-off. I was sure he didn’t feel the same. It dawned on me, even at this early stage, that I might be capable of loving him. Falling hard, and instead of laughing, crying. It scared me. I had never felt this before and it filled me with a terror of the same magnitude as my joy. I had never been ‘in love’ before. I didn’t know how it felt to be loved like that. Love scared me. Closeness scared me. This scared me.
    I made a decision during our trip to America; I realised this was a matter of the heart that I should keep close to my chest. For my own protection. This connection had the potential to be too special to ruin it with the hurt of misfired romantic intentions. Plus we worked together. It would be messy. And while half of me wanted to tear off his shirt with my teeth, I also wanted him to be in my life for the duration. I didn’t want him to be the one I avoided because he’d hurt me. If I was just his friend, then I would still be blessed. If that meant swallowing my pride and being his shoulder when he got hurt, or being the one he ranted at when he was angry, I was prepared to do it and to do it with dignity.
    Surely the physical attraction would melt away in time? Women would come and go, but real friends wouldn’t. I had only just realised how incredibly lucky I was to have even met him, and the smartest thing I could do was to gather myself together and recognise that.
    I made a decision. I had to put a lid on my feelings and I had to do it now. Yeah, right.

Three
    ‘I love your daughter. Terribly.’
    Nick
    It has been over a year since Sienna came into my world and turned it upside down. I adore her more every time I see her. I still